


Switcheroo

by NurseDarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, It's a mystery..., M/M, Schmoop, Sneakiness, gambling by Hogwarts staff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/pseuds/NurseDarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens on the Hogwarts Express by no means stays there. Not original, not clever, not anything. In fact, I’m sure even the title’s been used before. This is Clichéd — it’s got a dodgy premise, info dumpage, and a haphazard style. Sooo, this is pretty much like all of my fics... Even three betas couldn’t help this dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switcheroo

**Author's Note:**

> I felt compelled to write this after listening to my _Murder on the Orient Express_ audiotape one too many times. This is for the H/D fandom to say a HUGE THANK YOU for helping me out and keeping me sane during the months Mr Nursedarry was deployed to Afghanistan (the first time). Betas of win: delphipsmith, noeon and nicevenn.

“Er, mate — I hope you don’t mind, but—”

Nothing good could come from a sentence starting out with those words, but Harry was beyond worrying about Ron’s intentions these days. It was just nice to see him happy after everything that had happened over the last year.

“What is it, Ron?” Harry asked.

“Well, you know how we’re sharing this compartment...”

Harry glanced over the top of _Quidditch Update_. “Yeah, so?”

“I was wondering...” Ron looked down at the floor, up at the luggage rack, out the window at the dim scenery as it whizzed by — anywhere but at Harry.

“Wondering what?”

“I was kind of wondering if you wouldn’t mind...switching compartments for the night.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Didn’t Ron want to share a compartment with him? Then the light bulb went on with an almost audible _pop_. “Ah.”

“Yeah. You know that I’ve been spending a lot of time with Pansy over the summer — that whole Ministry rehabilitation for families of Death Eaters thing...” 

“Yeah, yeah, the building of bridges and all that.”

In an effort to bring together the severed factions of Wizard society, the Ministry, in its reactionary wisdom, had come up with the familial equivalent of Inter-House unity. Theoretically, under this new programme those families loyal to the Ministry and the Side of Light were to act as probation officers-cum-babysitters to those families whose loyalties were a little suspect. 

In practice, things had worked out either spectacularly well or stunningly badly. To everyone’s surprise, the matching of the Parkinsons with the Weasleys had been a huge success — the families had found they actually had a lot in common despite their ideological differences, and Ron and Pansy, who’d barely spoken three words to one another in the previous six years, now never missed an opportunity to share bodily fluids. Admittedly, so far as Harry knew, there hadn’t been many opportunities, what with the vast number of adults and siblings constantly hovering around them like an extended family of Pureblood meerkats.

“We were hoping to maybe spend the night on the train together,” Ron said, hence his clear interest in switching compartments.

“Ron, are you crazy?”

“How easy do you think it will be to sneak into each other’s dorms once we’re at school? At least there’s only Flitwick and Sprout to avoid here,” Ron pointed out.

Harry hadn’t considered that. Up until now, he’d not thought about sneaking into anybody’s dorm-room, so involved was he with sneaking around everywhere else. Plus, Harry’d forgotten that no one else had the luxury of an Invisibility Cloak. 

Now the seventh and returning eighth years found themselves sharing a special overnight running of the Hogwarts Express, and, there was, evidently, much deviousness afoot. Once the rest of the student body arrived at the school, they’d no doubt be kept busy with the business of Sorting, classes and homework. The business of sneaking around would be put on hold for at least a week. Also, they’d have to skirt around teachers far more observant (at least in the students’ eyes).

Harry once again cursed the fact that whilst getting on with saving the world, he’d had little chance to get off with anyone.

“Okay, Ron, so where am I supposed to go? Or am I expected to share a compartment with...?”

“Millicent Bulstrode.” 

“Millicent Bulstrode?!”

Immediately his mind’s eye was assaulted by images ranging from being shouted at for ruining a perfectly good girlie slumber-party with Pansy to fending off the Slytherin’s cumbersome advances. Both scenarios frightened the life out of him. Harry couldn’t decide which was worse: being hexed within an inch of his life for being the scourge of her House, or having to tell Millicent that, as flattered as he was, she just wasn’t his type. 

He’d imagined coming out to the his fellow students in a number of ways, but spilling the news whilst pinned against a compartment door by Millicent Bulstrode on the Hogwarts Express was not one of them. 

“Oh, no, mate.” Ron shuddered and laughed, seeing the look on Harry’s face. “God, no.” He shook his shaggy head to emphasise the point. “Actually, it works out quite well, ‘cause she wants to have Goyle sneak in with her while Pansy’s over here with me. You can just move into Goyle’s room.”

Ron made it sound so easy; Harry was sure there was a catch. “And who’s Goyle meant to be sharing with, then?”

~*~

“Malfoy,” Harry said as he pulled off his Invisibility Cloak, already embarrassed by the scruffy plaid pyjama bottoms and sweatshirt he was wearing. Malfoy was sitting up in one of the two narrow beds which lined each of the compartment walls, his top half clad in a black t-shirt that looked in better nick than any of Harry’s formal robes. Harry could only surmise that what Malfoy wore on the bottom was also of a better standard.

“Potter! You’ve got to be kidding me.” Malfoy sneered, more to the compartment at large than to Harry. Surely Malfoy knew that Goyle would be indirectly displacing someone, but he obviously hadn’t imagined that it’d be Harry.

“Hey, it’s not my fault everyone on this train wants to have a shag before getting to school!” As soon as the words had left his mouth, Harry regretted them. His face flamed as Malfoy’s eyes went as wide as saucers.

“Excuse me?” he asked incredulously. “You _what_?”

“I wasn’t talking about me, Malfoy,” Harry said, angrily wadding up his cloak and stashing it under the other bed. 

“You said _everyone_!” Malfoy yanked the blanket up over himself primly as if that would protect him from Harry-the-sex-maniac. 

“I didn’t mean us, you tosser!” Harry practically shouted at him.

“Oh.” Malfoy released the blanket he’d been clutching.

Something in Malfoy’s countenance changed minutely, and Harry narrowed his eyes. “Your bloody housemates are shacked-up all over this train, and with all of the bed-swapping, it looks like we’re stuck with each other.” 

The rocking of the train nearly tipped Harry into Goyle’s bunk — his bunk now, he reminded himself — and he let himself fall onto the mattress.

Malfoy’s snark reasserted itself. “I am _not_ sleeping in the same compartment as you, Potter,” he spat.

Harry threw his arm over his eyes. “Then enjoy kipping in the corridor, Malfoy.”

The other boy was quiet for a long moment and Harry hoped they had come to the end of the uncomfortable conversation. 

But they hadn’t. “I was wondering what was taking Goyle so long to clean his sodding teeth,” Malfoy grumbled.

“No doubt Millicent Bulstrode is running her tongue all over them now.” Harry frowned at the revolting thought.

“Disgusting, Potter. Must you?” 

Harry thought he’d twist the knife a little more. “And you don’t even _want_ to know where your ex is...”

Malfoy snorted. “I _know_ where he is — he’s shacked up with Nott, the two-timing bastard!”

Harry whipped his arm from over his eyes and sat up quickly. “Malfoy, I’m talking about Pansy. Who are you talking about?”

Malfoy threw himself down on his bed and turned over to face the wall. “No one, Potter. Shut up and turn out the light if you’re staying.”

Harry chuckled. “ _I’m_ not sure it’s safe, now...”

Malfoy’s sneer concealed any embarrassment he might have felt. “I’m not going to molest you in your sleep, fuck-head.”

Harry’s reply was almost a whisper and he was sure Malfoy didn’t hear him. “Mmmm-hmmm.”

~*~

“No!! Please stop, please!” Malfoy’s voice flirted with hysteria. Harry cast _Lumos_ and decided — finally — to wake him. He’d been listening to Malfoy in the throes of what sounded like a nightmare for the last ten minutes, debating if he should wake him up or hope it passed. It was obviously becoming worse; Harry knew what that was like.

He took the two steps it took to reach Malfoy’s bunk and leaned down, shaking the other boy’s shoulder gently.

“Malfoy, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” The boy's sweaty hair was stuck to his forehead and didn’t move as he tossed his head from side to side. Harry resisted the urge to push it from his eyes. “Malfoy!” he hissed a bit louder. “C’mon, it’s a dream.”

Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm and yanked. “Please make it stop. I’m so sorry. Please!” Harry lost his balance; his lit wand hit the floor and went out as it rolled under Malfoy's cot. Harry landed on top of Malfoy before he could stop himself. Malfoy’s eyes flew open and he pulled Harry against him. “Merlin!”

Harry tried to stand and move away. He didn’t need Malfoy to find him like this — sprawled against him; Malfoy would probably already be embarrassed about having a nightmare. But he just clutched Harry tighter, and there was nothing Harry could do but stay put.

“Where — ?” Malfoy blurted, his eyes bright in the moonlight that seeped through the blind in the window. He was obviously awake but clearly disoriented. “Potter? What in the holy hells are you doing in my bed?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I...er...you were having a nightmare. I was trying to wake you up.” From what he could see of Malfoy’s face, the other boy didn’t look convinced. 

Then something strange happened. Malfoy shifted over against the wall and Harry found he had more room on the small bed. 

“I should get up, I guess,” Harry said, although he didn’t. Instead, he stretched out, taking a shaky breath. Malfoy raked a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face and nearly crushing Harry’s nose with his elbow in the process. “Oi, watch it!” 

Malfoy _harrumphed_ , reached under the pillow for his wand, and _Engorgio’d_ the cot. Then he pulled Harry to him again. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll hex your balls off.”

Harry was silent as he tried to remember how to breathe and do so without moving.

“Potter?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m too attached to them to risk that.” He laughed into the darkness, hoping Malfoy would mistake his shaking for the gentle swaying of the train as it slid through the night on its way north.

Malfoy, though, seemed more worried about his reputation. “I’m not joking.” 

Harry was confused, turned on, and rapidly getting cross at Malfoy for sending out such a barrage of mixed signals. After seven years, he’d had enough of Malfoy toying with him. “I’m not joking either. Here, feel.” Peeling one of Malfoy hands from around his waist, Harry pressed it against the strained fabric of his pyjamas.

“Potter, what are you doing?” Malfoy squeaked.

Harry burrowed his nose into Malfoy’s hair and whispered against it. “What does it feel like?”

“It feels…it feels…it feels good,” Malfoy whispered back. 

Harry raised his head, searching out Malfoy’s eyes. “Yeah, it does.” He wrapped his arms around the other boy. 

“And what are you going to tell your little friends?” 

“I’m not going to tell anyone anything. And Merlin, Malfoy, not everything is about you, you know!” Harry tightened his hold on him.

“I know. It’s usually about you, or hadn’t you noticed?” Malfoy clutched Harry tighter in response.

“Not recently. It’s been about us — all of us. But, can’t we just forget about that for now? Please?” Harry pressed his hand against Malfoy’s a bit harder. 

“Right,” Malfoy sneered. “It’s probably been so long since you’ve had sex, you don’t care who you’re getting off with.” Still, he moved his hand tentatively along the length of Harry’s erection.

Harry gasped. “That’s not true — oh — I do care, and I’ve never actually had —”

“Potter?” Malfoy’s hand stopped moving.

“Never mind,” Harry said, and he turned away. 

Malfoy moved with him, placing his hand back where it had been. “No, Potter, wait. Have you really never had sex before?”

“No. When would I’ve had the time?” Harry asked bitterly, waiting for the cutting response that was sure to come.

“I don’t know. All that time in the dorm? All that time during seventh year when you and Granger were away?”

“Hermione? Malfoy, she’s been with Anthony Goldstein since fifth year. Do you honestly think she’d be romantically interested in anyone who couldn’t recite all twenty Arithmancy tables — ”

“Twenty-one.”

“— all twenty-one Arithmancy tables — without making a mistake? Most days, I’m lucky if I can tie my shoes properly.” 

“Well, I didn’t want to be the one to say it…” Malfoy said and curled his hand around Harry’s cock.

Harry’s protest turned into a gasp.

“And the Weasleyette?” Malfoy asked.

“She’s with Dean, like always.” Harry abruptly rolled over on top of Malfoy, his cock now so hard it felt like steel against his belly. “Look, I’ll spell it out since the significance of my lying on top of you and pressing your hand against my testicles doesn’t seem to be getting the message across: I don’t like girls.”

“Right. I got it,” Malfoy said, shifting deliciously under Harry. Then a puzzled crease appeared on his forehead. “What about Chang?”

“When do you think I finally realised that I wasn't attracted to anyone but boys?” Harry lowered his head and pressed a kiss against Malfoy’s mouth. He was sure it was crap, inexperienced as he was, but he didn’t care. 

Malfoy kissed him back, which felt bloody amazing. But when it was over, the other boy went on as if nothing had happened. “Ha! I always knew you had a thing for Diggory. Or Krum. Or both.”

Harry smiled. “And you didn’t?”

“Yeah, okay,” Malfoy admitted, attempting a scowl.

“Right, enough of that,” Harry said and leaned down to steal another kiss. “Tell me what to do; I’m kind of new to this.” 

“More of the same is a good start, Potter,” Malfoy said, hooking a leg around Harry’s thigh. He pressed himself against Harry with the same rhythm as Harry had begun moving against him.

~*~

The train was slowly swaying back and forth when Harry’s eyes opened. The compartment was still dark, but the faintest of glows was beginning to creep through the room from the window.

Automatically he reached to the side for his glasses, but his fingers met nothing except an empty windowsill. Now even more disoriented, he reached for his wand but he couldn’t squeeze his hand under the pillow; something besides his head was atop it. He squinted into the pre-dawn gloom and pushed his hand under with more force.

“Stpthtstilschleeep,” said a cranky voice from beside him. 

_Oh, hell yes!_ Harry inwardly cheered. 

He thought he’d dreamt about lying in bed with Draco Malfoy. He thought he’d dreamt kissing him and touching him, and pulling away their clothes to get as much skin as possible in contact. Harry held up the blanket and Draco wrapped himself tighter around him. 

“Cold,” Draco muttered. Harry dropped the blanket back over them. He’d seen enough; they were both completely naked. So, it _had_ really happened. He remembered rubbing their bodies together, coming against one another’s bellies. He remembered long, slow, sloppy kisses.

Harry's mind fastened on a memory - his hand, then his mouth, finding Draco’s cock and giving it more attention than he’d ever given the boy to whom it was attached. He remembered the sound Draco had made just before Harry had tried to swallow the resulting ejaculate. 

In the end, he’d managed to get very little down his throat and ended up with most of it on his face. This amused Draco, but he was sweet and apologetic, and looked terribly embarrassed. One quick cleaning spell later, and it was forgotten. 

Harry remembered Draco then, taking him quite literally in hand, and whispering things to him that had Harry writhing and coming in the sheets in a matter of moments. Harry was sure that the words and the promises he’d spoken — such esoteric concepts as _rimming_ and _prostate_ — would tease him for the whole of the year. Just thinking about it made Harry instantly hard again.

He turned and looked at Draco, wondering if he was awake or just dreaming, murmuring as one does when on the edge of waking but desperate not to. _Never mind,_ thought Harry. _I can work around that..._

~*~

.  
This time, Harry was quite pleased with himself – he didn’t get near as much semen on his face. And when it was his turn, Draco didn’t get any on his.

~*~

Harry yawned and stretched his arms over his head with an unnerving popping sound. The compartment was lighter now and a quick _Tempus_ using Draco’s wand showed it to have just gone seven. “I suppose I should move before our friends come barging in to tell us they’re ready to sneak back.”

“No, it’s nice and warm here,” Draco informed him from under the covers.

“Really? You’re the one worried about your image and what people would say.” Harry scratched his stubbly chin and stretched again.

“Hmmf. This, coming from the boy whose picture is on the front page of the newspaper every other day.”

“And you think I like that?”

Draco’s rumpled head popped out from under the blanket. “Why wouldn’t you?”

It appeared as though they hadn’t so much had a meeting of the minds as of bodies. Harry decided to change the subject. “So, will I see you again?” He winced. _I did NOT just say that, did I?_ he thought.

Draco smirked. “Of course you will — we have classes together. And I’m planning to kick your arse on the Quidditch pitch in a few weeks.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, you prat.” Harry blushed as he thought of how best to phrase his next statement. “I meant, will you be keeping good on those _other_ promises you made about my arse?” To emphasis the point, he gave Draco’s a squeeze.

“I may be many things, Potter, but I’m not a liar. And I keep my promises,” Draco said with a yawn.

Harry was inclined to argue the point, but kept silent in favour of more mutual groping.

~*~

Ten sticky minutes later, Harry announced, “Right, I’m getting up unless you fancy a bit more cuddling.”

“I don’t cuddle, Potter,” came the outraged response.

“What do you think you’re doing now, then?” Harry looked down at his chest where Draco had laid his head after collapsing on top of him.

“I’m using you as a pillow — there’s a difference.”

“Of course.” Harry lazily ran his hands up and down Draco’s back.

 **SLAM!** The compartment door flew open with a bang. 

“And here we thought you might have killed one another.” Pansy’s voice was amused and shrill. Both boys jumped at the sound and sat up whilst grappling awkwardly with the blanket.

“Shut up, Pansy,” Draco growled, rolling over and immediately running his hand through his hair in a vain effort to present his usual pristine visage. “And piss off, would you?”

“Only if we get the whole story later,” Pansy said with a wink.

Harry, on seeing Ron, Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode standing behind Pansy, blushed furiously. He was pretty sure he looked his usual morning self, probably even more dishevelled, despite how good he felt. 

“Mate, I don’t want to hear a thing!” Ron protested, his eyes round and staring.

Harry could only imagine what Ron was thinking. “Would everyone please just leave?” He had no desire to have this discussion.

“Ooh,” Pansy sighed. “He’s rather yummy when he’s angry, isn’t he?” Her eyes slid back to Draco. “I can see now why you spent so much time winding him up.”

“Shut up, Pansy,” Draco grumbled menacingly. 

Ron, recovering from his shock, evidently decided he couldn’t leave without alluding to Harry how he felt about the whole who-was-sleeping-with-whom development. “I don’t know what you see in him, but then who am I to say anything?”

The resultant exclamation was heard through the length of the carriage. “WHAT?!” Pansy put her hands on her hips and turned a fiery stare toward Ron. 

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Ron quickly back-pedalled as people stuck their heads from compartments up and down the passageway to see what all the kerfuffle was about. 

“I should certainly hope not!” Pansy said in a rather shrewish tone.

“What’s going on?” asked Luna. She had arrived at the boys’ compartment wearing nothing but a blanket, and poked her head inside. “Oh, hello Harry. Hello Draco,” she said amiably.

“Are they sharing a compartment?” someone asked from behind the group at the door. “I bet that made for an interesting night.”

“That’s not all they’re sharing,” Pansy called over her shoulder.

“NO!"

"REALLY?"

"OH MY GOD!” 

There came a chorus of voices and the crowd at the door seemed to double.

“Oi! Will everyone just get the hell out of here?!” Harry shouted, angry and also hoping that the spectacle hadn’t aroused the suspicions of the teachers aboard the train. It was either his voice or the look in his eyes that compelled the crowd into action and it began to disperse. Pansy shut the door with a smirk. 

Alone at last, the boys slunk out of bed and donned their pyjamas in silence. Harry retrieved his wand from underneath Draco’s bed and found his cloak under his own cot. “So,” he said, wanting to break the uncomfortable silence. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts.”

“No doubt,” Draco replied, not looking at Harry.

“I...er...I had a good time. Thank you.” Harry knew it sounded lame, but what else could he say?

“It was a pleasure.”

Harry stopped, a hand on the open compartment door. “Really?”

Draco sighed. “Yes, really.”

Harry turned around and walked back to where Draco stood by the window. Not caring about the eyes of his fellow students who were undoubtedly trying to catch every movement from where they stood outside the compartment, he pulled Draco to him for a last kiss.

~*~

“Anyone else?” asked a voice from the fireplace in the Headmistress’ office.

“No, I think that’s the lot,” reported Professor Sprout.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled from his portrait. “Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy took longer than we thought they would, eh? I was sure that would have happened in sixth year.”

There were general sounds of agreement and much nodding of heads at this statement.

“So, let’s see,” said George Weasley from the fire grate. He looked down as he consulted something out of sight from the room’s occupants. “Professor McGonagall is the closest with the number of couples. She didn’t predict Lovegood and Abbot getting together, but other than that, well done!” He looked up at the Headmistress. “You’ve won the Hogwarts Express pools!”

The End


End file.
